She hasn’t had a partner-assisted orgasm in over a week and a half, and she is just beyond done. She wants to lie down on the cold bathroom floor and cry. Derek is starting to look like a permanently kicked puppy. “Look,” she tells him after dinner, “I love your inner self and your personality or whatever, but can I just tie you up and use your body until I come a couple times?” Derek fumbles the sudsy glass in his hand. “Awesome!” Stiles says brightly.

Lan Wangji is going to die. Lan Wangji is going to die, and it isn’t even a hyperbole; she is entirely ready to collapse in her seat like a marionette with its strings cut off. The vibrator inside her pulses, and Lan Wangji can barely stop herself from lurching forward and letting out a loud groan. She resists a glance at the row of seats behind her; she knows that Wei Ying is there, watching, and she isn’t entirely sure she isn’t going to come at the sight of Wei Ying’s lazy little smirk. Truly—the things Wei Ying has made her do—shameless. (or; Lan Wangji wears a vibrator to class at the behest of her fuckbuddy Wei Ying, and it ends up a lot hotter and more emotional for both of them.)